Hollywood Heir (Westerly Billionaire #4)(33)

“Sage, I asked you to come out with me today—I’m paying for the meal.”

“Wayne”—she said his name in the same tone—“I had a great day, and the food was incredible. I want to contribute.” When he still didn’t let the check go, she added, “It’s important to me.”

He lowered his hand then. “Despite how I appear, I can afford it.”

His mood seemed to deflate, and Sage worried that she had embarrassed him. She hadn’t meant to imply he didn’t have the money for the bill. Some men were proud about things like that. She put her credit card down on the check while hoping to think of something to say to make him feel better. “I didn’t warn you about the 5 percent chance that I might be bullish about paying for my meal. This isn’t about you—it’s about me. I don’t like accepting too much from other people.”

He placed his hand over hers. “Because you see it as a form of control.”

Her eyes flew to his. How did he understand her so well? “Yes. My freedom is important to me.”

“I would never clip your wings, Sage. I’d rather fly with you.”

Tears filled her eyes. “I’d like that.” Believing him would mean opening herself up to potentially being hurt deeply. Was she ready for that?

The waiter took the bill, then returned it a moment later. Sage released Wayne’s hand long enough to sign the slip and return her card to her purse.

The drive back to her apartment was comfortable and full of light conversation. It was as if neither wanted to risk ruining what had been a perfect day together. He walked her inside, all the way to the door of her apartment. She unlocked the door and held it open behind her.

He leaned in. Sage licked her bottom lip in anticipation. One moment stretched to two. She was tempted to throw herself into his arms. Wasn’t it what they both wanted?

Their ragged breaths mingled.

“Do you want to come in?” she asked, giving in to the temptation of him.

He frowned. It wasn’t the reaction she’d hoped for. “Of course I do, but I can’t do that to you. I’m not the man you think I am.” His hand went back to the side of his face he still had slightly averted. “I’m not yet even the man I want to be, but I’m working on it.”

“You’re already pretty damn wonderful in my book.” She stepped forward and hugged him then, in the same way he’d held her when she’d told him about her parents. His arms wrapped around her tightly. She’d been with men who had seemed to have their lives together, but being with them had lacked the level of connection she felt with Wayne. She felt his confusion and his pain as clearly as her own.

They were two lost souls who found acceptance and comfort in each other. Only with him could she admit to herself that her family’s rejection had left her with a real fear of being abandoned again. A real fear—one that affected how she lived her life and how many people she let into it. Bella had once asked her why she didn’t stay in touch with any of the people she helped. Sage had claimed it was part of the process, but the truth was she walked away from them so they couldn’t walk away from her. In Wayne’s arms, she could face that side of herself without shame. They were both works in progress.

She raised her face from his chest to look at him, and the nature of the embrace changed. Desire darkened his eyes. Evidence of his excitement nudged against her.

“Sage. I’m—”

She placed two fingers over his mouth. She didn’t want to talk anymore. So much of her life had centered on how other people felt and trying to make them happy. She wanted to be selfish just this once. She’d encouraged countless others to take risks and follow their hearts. Her heart told her that this chance might not come again and she would regret not being with him more than whatever consequence the next day held.

He met the kiss halfway. All thinking, doubting, justifying stopped, and there was just him and the way he made her feel. He claimed her mouth like a man who had waited his whole life for the taste of her. She kissed him back with matching fervor.

His hands sought hers and raised them to her sides while he backed her up against the wall just inside her door. She writhed against him, desperate to feel more of him.

Just when she thought they were at the point of no return, he raised his head and pushed back from her. She was grateful for the support of the wall.

“I have to go,” he said, then strode out of her apartment.

She moved away from the wall to the doorway just in time to see him disappear around the corner. She closed the door slowly and hugged herself.

Frustration and embarrassment battered her. She’d never thrown herself at any man. His refusal cut her to the core.

Just as his departure did.

I’m a woman with abandonment issues chasing a man who keeps running away. There is something seriously wrong with me.



Eric was still cursing himself when he parked in his hidden garage. He stormed to the changing area and tore the fake scar from his face, flinging it to the ground. He met his eyes in the mirror and hated the man who stared back at him.

He stripped and stood before the closets of clothing. He didn’t want to be a fucked-up rich man with a fake scar. He put his fist through the door of the dresser that held his nice clothing. In disgust, he began to throw his makeup and prosthetic scars into a trash barrel that he then sent flying with a kick.